Part 21 Details
Mark lay back on the bed and thought about Steve. In his long career, he had seen just about every sort of injury and affliction and had learnt to maintain a professional distance from the suffering of his patients, to do otherwise could only lead to depression. It wasn't that he didn't have sympathy for his patients, that was part of what made him a good doctor, but he had to focus on the help he could give, rather than the pain they were in, to maintain any sort of perspective. When it came to his own son, however, that professional distance seemed to evaporate. He knew better than most what his son was going through and his heart ached for him.
He pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying but failing to organise his thoughts. Question after question crowded for his attention. Why this was happening to Steve? Had the poisoner intended to hurt him or kill him? And who was it? There was the frightening but very real possibility that it was a violent act triggered by all of the negative publicity surrounding the events in the clinic, after all, that had led to hate mail. Would one of those cranks take it that step further and try to hurt him? or was it someone directly connected with the case?
Mark tried hard to focus but the questions kept repeating, and unfortunately there were no obvious answers. He was finally pulled from his musings at the sound of Steve being brought into the room. He watched silently whilst the nurses and orderlies made him comfortable, noticing his now deathly pale complexion and gaunt features, so different from how he had been only two short hours ago and he experienced a brief stab of despair before he managed to pull himself together. He had made a promise to himself that whatever happened he would be there for his son and he wasn't going to fail him now.
Dr. Taylor made sure that Steve was resting comfortably before dismissing the nursing staff, he then sat on the bed to talk to Mark. "OK, he's going to be all right, we seem to have got most of the poison before it got into his system." He glanced across at Steve before continuing. "I've had to put him on morphine for the pain, so he's going to be out of it for a while, we'll reduce the dose over the next twelve hours and see how he does. The good news is that there shouldn't be any long term effects."
"How about his X-rays?" Mark asked
"Fortunately he doesn't seem to have done any more damage to his ribs, the fracture remained in place." Bill Taylor studied his friend. "He was lucky really, it could have been much worse."
Mark looked over at Steve's sleeping form. Nothing that had happened to him in the last week could really be described in terms of good fortune. On the other hand, there were several occasions on which they could have lost him and, despite the pain and the trauma, he was still with them and would recover, at least physically, and for that, he knew he should be grateful.
Mark realised that his colleague was watching him, waiting for some sort of response. He turned back to him. "Thanks again for everything you've done."
"Well thank you for the assist with the diagnosis," Bill said, "I thought it was arsenic we were dealing with and yet you knew without even seeing him." He smiled. "It's not often that I get help from one of my patients. How did you know what it was?"
Mark allowed himself a small smile in return. "When you've been around as long as I have you get to see just about everything." He paused briefly before adding, " and if you're lucky you even remember some of it."
Bill let a small laugh escape. "Who are you trying to kid, you've got a memory like a steel trap and you never miss a detail."
That last sentence triggered something in Mark's mind. There was a detail that he had missed, something that had been niggling at him, something connected with the case and yet he couldn't quite bring it into focus. Had Jesse, Amanda or Steve seen the change in expression they would have realised that Mark was onto something. Bill Taylor misinterpreted his sudden distraction as worry.
"He really is going to be fine you know." Bill said.
Mark turned to look at him but it was clear he hadn't heard.
"I said he's going to be fine." Bill repeated.
Mark glanced across at his son then looked back at his friend. "I know he is." He said with a conviction that betrayed his need to believe what he was saying.
Amanda stepped out of the cab outside Mrs. Edmonds' house and walked past her own vehicle on the way to the door. This time when she knocked she did not have to wait long for an answer.
Mrs. Edmonds opened the door cautiously until she saw who it was, recognising Amanda she pulled it open wide. "Oh my dear you've come back. Come in. Come in and I'll get you a nice cup of tea." She gestured with her hand and almost shooed Amanda past before shutting the door, and leading the way to the kitchen at the back of the house, talking as she went. "That poor Lieutenant Sloan, he was in such a state I don't think I've ever seen anyone so pale. How is he? Is he going to be all right?" They were in the kitchen now and she stopped and turned to look at Amanda with the last question.
"Yes he's going to be fine," Amanda replied, taking the seat that Mrs. Edmonds gestured towards.
"Do they know what was wrong with him?"
Amanda hesitated before answering, deciding that the truth would only lead the conversation off in the wrong direction, she opted for a neutral statement. "They're still running tests."
"I expect it was something he ate, food poisoning most probably. My poor late husband had a dreadful bout of it once when we were on holiday in New Orleans, Of course we were much younger then. Do you take milk dear?"
Amanda nodded, so much for avoiding the conversation going off in the wrong direction.
"I remember it was a really hot Summer.."
"Mrs. Edmonds," Amanda interrupted as gently as she could, trying to decide how she could tactfully get back to her questions without offending.
Mrs. Edmonds stopped speaking and paused from making the tea for a moment to look at her. "I'm sorry, you don't really want to listen to me rambling on, you want answers to the questions you came out to ask earlier." She poured two cups from the pot she was holding and set one down in front of Amanda. "So fire away."
Amanda smiled, grateful for the old woman's astuteness and her courtesy. "Just before Lieutenant Sloan collapsed we were talking about Sandra Gray, the assistant DA. You said that you knew her, can I ask how?"
"Yes, she used to come around a lot in the early days just after the clinic opened. She was just a state prosecutor then but you could tell she was ambitious. She had that look in her eye, almost feral."
"Was she a patient?"
"No, we didn't hold any medical files on her and she never had an appointment. She used to turn up late, usually after the last patient, and she'd stay after I left. Would you like a biscuit?"
Amanda shook her head adding a polite, "No thank you, I'm fine," and attempting not to become frustrated by the interruptions.
"At first I thought they were having an affair." She paused whilst she opened a tin and took out a cookie for herself.
"What made you change your mind?"
"Well there was no passion for a start, not even a spark, of course they could have been trying to hide it but they were both single so there was no reason to, and then, on the couple of occasions when she left before I did, Dr. Evans always looked unhappy."
"How long did this go on for?"
Mrs. Edmonds considered before she answered. "About six months, I saw her roughly once per week, and that's the other thing that made me think it wasn't an affair. After she stopped coming round, a man used to turn up to see Dr. Evans, again after hours and roughly once a week. That went on for about another six months."
"And after that?"
"Nothing, at least nothing like that."
Amanda decided to try a new line of questioning. "Mrs. Edmonds can you think of any reason why Dr. Evans would want to hurt any of his patients?"
Mrs. Edmonds eyes widened as she picked up on the implications of Amanda's question. "I.. well I. I." Clearly flustered, she took a breath to compose herself. "I told you I didn't particularly like the man and I always had the feeling that there was something not quite right, but if you're asking me do I think he had something against one of his patients that would lead him to be involved in what happened on Saturday then I'm afraid I can't help you."
"You mean you don't think he could be involved?"
Mrs. Edmonds considered it. "No, I'm sad to say that I think he is capable of it, I just don't know of any reason why he would do it. From what I saw, his relationship with his patients was strictly professional." She smiled forlornly. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"No, you've been more than helpful, thank you."
Mrs. Edmonds' smile brightened. "You will stay for a little more tea won't you."
It was around six when Nathan finally returned to Mark's room carrying a pile of folders and some coffee for all of them. Amanda was already there talking quietly to Mark.
Having established that Steve was fine but still asleep, he began to update them on his findings, placing the files on the end of Mark's bed and opening his notebook. "OK first the interviews with the staff, they revealed very little about our poisoner. About all I have established is that with just a passing knowledge of the hospital routine anyone could add or take something from a tray. When they come up from the kitchens, the trolley is left unsupervised on the corridor whilst the meals are taken into the rooms, and the trays are marked with the room number and the patients' name, so they would be easy to tamper with. From now on all food to you Dr. Travis and Miss Wright will be supervised from the kitchen to you to avoid any repeats of the incident."
"So nobody saw anything?" Mark asked
"One of the nurses thought she saw someone hanging round on the corridor so we've got her looking through the mug books but I don't hold out much hope. There were no fingerprints either, pretty much of a dead end I'm afraid." He turned the page in his notebook. "We also have nothing on who killed Saul Reeve and possibly Sarah Mackay. If it was Dr. Evans we have no evidence apart from the fact that he had means and opportunity. It should be enough to get a search warrant to go through his records at the clinic though. They might have something significant about his relationship with the first two patients who died, because there's nothing that I can see in the backgrounds we've dug up." He pointed at the folders on the bed. "I brought the files with me in case you two wanted to have a look."
"I've been thinking about that," Mark interjected. In fact, once he had satisfied himself that Steve was going to be OK he had thought about little else all afternoon. Dr. Taylor's comment about him not missing a detail had made him reconsider everything he knew and he had picked out several more anomalies that bore investigation, although there was still something nagging at him. Something that he knew was significant but he was still missing. "If Dr. Evans was in the clinic between the shooting and when he reported to Captain Newman, it could have been because he was trying to get rid of evidence once he realised that everything had gone badly wrong and that there may be a bigger investigation."
"That would make sense," Nathan replied, "But I don't see how he could have been there without being seen by someone. You were there you know how many officers were around."
"Yes but it was fairly chaotic," Amanda joined the conversation. "If he kept his head down and looked like he knew what he was doing then it's possible no one would challenge him."
Nathan nodded. "Possibly."
"If he did destroy records," Mark said, "then it may be a good idea to take Mrs. Edmonds with you. She worked there for five years and would know better than most what was missing. Don't forget we also saw him there a couple of days later removing some more files." Mark looked at Amanda. "Do you think she would be willing to help?"
Amanda nodded. "Yes, in fact I rather think she'd enjoy it. I think she's already missing working."
"OK, I'll sort that out in the morning and I'll make sure that the search warrant also covers his house." Nathan said, closing his notebook. "I've also arranged to pick up a list of the case files destroyed by the fire at county records, although I still don't see what that will tell us."
"Maybe some connection between Dr. Evans and Sandra Gray," Mark said, thoughtfully. "After what Amanda found out this afternoon I'm even more sure that she's somehow involved in all of this."
Mark closed the file and sighed, Nathan was right, there was nothing about either of the men shot first at the clinic that connected them to Dr. Evans in anything but a professional capacity. One of them had only moved to LA from Chicago a couple of months ago and had visited the clinic a couple of times. The other had been a patient since it opened but again had only visited infrequently. There was no indication that they had any other contact than a handful of doctor- patient consultations and both were respectable and hard working men. As Nathan had said a dead end, and yet Mark had been so sure that there was a reason for the shootings. It wasn't just a random act of violence, it had a motive, they just had to find it.
He placed the files on his bed. He had taken to sitting in the chair next to Steve so that he could be there for him when he woke. He had come round partially a couple of times in the last couple of hours, not really regaining consciousness, just drifting close to the surface before the drugs pulled him under again, and Mark had been there to talk to him and reassure him that everything was all right before he drifted back to sleep.
Mark watched his son sleep, grateful for the medication that smoothed the lines of pain and worry from his face and allowed him to rest peacefully.
"How's he doing?"
The familiar voice from next to Mark startled him, he hadn't heard anyone enter the room. He turned to see Jesse sitting on the hospital bed beside him. He looked round and could see no wheelchair and no nurse and he was positive he would have heard that. "Jess, What are you doing here? You should be in bed," he admonished gently.
Jesse looked pointedly at the chair Mark was sitting in. "I could say the same to you."
"You could, but I only have a broken arm and a few scratches, I'm not recovering from a gunshot wound and a severe head trauma," Mark returned "and I am only two feet from my bed whereas you on the other hand.."
"Had to sneak clean across the corridor when the nurses weren't looking." Jesse grinned. "And it wasn't easy you know. I had to bribe two police officers, one to let me out of my room and the other to let me in here."
Mark gave Jesse the look that annoyed parents give to their offspring, or irritated doctors give to aberrant patients. "Jess you really shouldn't be walking around yet."
"I know, Dr. Taylor, nine years experience and a very interesting dizzy spell in the doorway already told me that. Why do you think I had to sneak over here? Dr. Taylor said I wasn't up to coming to visit yet."
Mark's expression changed to one of exacerbation. "So why are you here?"
Jesse looked across at Steve and then back at Mark. "Amanda came to see me and filled me in on what happened to Steve. She said that he was going to be all right and that you were OK but." he hesitated before continuing. "I just had to see for myself." Suddenly uncomfortable by the strength and sincerity of the emotions that he had allowed to the surface, he forced the grin back on to his face, "Besides I was getting bored in that hospital bed. You know us doctors were never cut out to be patients."
Mark had caught the strength of feeling in that short utterance, 'I had to see for myself,' and knew that it reflected Jesse's closeness to both him and Steve. He felt guilty that he had not gone over to reassure Jesse himself, he should have known how the young man would react when he heard that Steve had been hurt again. He regarded him critically, he was still very pale and the vivid colours of the bruising seemed to make even more of a contrast with his skin.
"I'm sorry I should have come over to see you.."
Jesse held up his hand. "Hey, it's all right," he nodded across at Steve. "He needs you more than I do."
"All the same, if you're going to stay here then get into bed and we can talk."
"But." Jesse began to protest.
"Get into bed or I'll call the nurses to take you back right now."
Jesse acquiesced and climbed into Mark's bed resting his head back "So, how's he doing?" he asked again once he was comfortable.
Mark hesitated before answering. "He'll recover," was the best he could manage when he did. Any reference to the pain Steve had been or would be in, or the toxic side effects of the drug he had been given, would have broken the delicate control Mark had on his emotions. So he avoided references to it. "At least from this," he added, "But Jess we've got to figure out who did this and why all this is happening before someone makes another attempt. He may not be so lucky next time." He lifted his cast and gestured at Jesse's bandaged arm. "None of us might be." . "Hey," Jesse looked him directly in the eye. "You know I'll do anything I can to help."
Mark smiled with genuine affection. "I know Jess." He handed him one of the files. "So, do you feel up to a little light reading?"
Jesse looked at the plain folder and groaned. "Well when I said anything." he began in mock protest, but opened up the file and began to read.
It was an hour before the nurses discovered that Jesse was missing and forced the errant patient back into his own bed, and he had gone with reasonably good grace, this time in the compulsory wheelchair. Mark had also been forced back into his own bed and he had lay back to continue to think about the case.
Peter parked the car and rubbed his eyes, glad that he was finally being allowed to get some rest. It was almost midnight and he had been driving Byron around and running errands all day. Sometimes he wondered how his companion kept up the pace. It was an amazing yet frightening sight to watch him when he was working through a plan. He became driven, seeming to have no need to rest. Even when he had been seated beside him in the car, the energy emanating from the man was almost palpable. Peter frequently found it difficult to keep up, but was too afraid not to.
He took a deep breath and headed into the rented apartment. Byron had told him to park up and then come inside and it would not be wise to keep him waiting. Not when he was in this sort of mood. He opened the door nervously and went inside.
Byron was standing by an open refrigerator just inside the room. He smiled and tossed him a beer. "Here, you've earned it," he said opening his own and taking a deep gulp before dropping onto the couch.
"Thanks," Peter said, still wary. He was not used to praise.
"When you've finished that." Byron gestured with his own bottle across at Peter's. "Get yourself some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow and lots of traveling to do."
Peter swallowed, he had been wanting to say something earlier but hadn't had the courage. "About that I."
"Yes," Byron answered amused by his friend's nervousness.
"Do we have to .." he stumbled over the words but forced himself on. "Do we have to leave the country."
Byron smiled, "Of course we do. They've got a sample of my blood and they've matched it against Robert's. It's only a matter of time before they trace the fact that I'm his half brother and tie me to the shootings at the clinic. They don't even need witnesses, they've got enough physical evidence to make a case." He took another swig of his beer, "besides I intend to leave a confession." His amusement grew as he watched his companion's surprised expression. "So once I've done what I have to do tomorrow and had my fun, we'll need to leave."
"But," Peter hesitated again, but he had started this so he had no choice but to see it through. He took a quick swig of his beer. "They don't have any evidence against me, c. couldn't I stay."
In contrast, Byron took a long unhurried draw from his beer and lowered it slowly to his lap before gazing across at Peter. "Well I could leave you here I suppose." He paused for effect, noting that Peter's face relaxed slightly. "But then that would make you a loose end," another pause, "and you know what I do with loose ends."
Peter gulped at the implied threat. "Then I guess I'd better pack," he said, getting to his feet.
"Yes," Byron said, still smiling. "Why don't you do that."
Steve saw the face of the killer as he turned. He heard the cruel taunts, "The shooting would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. Now you'll all die." And then the bullets slammed into his chest, blinding him momentarily to everything but the pain, as the words repeated in his head selectively enforcing his own guilt "Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. you'll all die. Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. if it hadn't been for you."
Then the screams started, only this time Steve sat up and watched as each and every one of the people in the clinic fell to the floor, he watched the bullets tear into flesh, he watched the blood run from the wounds, he saw and heard their terror and he tried to scream at the killer to stop, but no sounds came from his mouth. His limbs felt like lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't help. All he could do was watch.
Then he was running. He turned to look at the killer who was chasing him only it wasn't him. It was the victims from the clinic still soaked in blood and they were coming after him. They wanted him. He ran as fast as he could barely keeping in front of them, and then the first cramp hit, excruciating, debilitating pain that made him drop to his knees. Every muscle in his body screaming in agony
He heard his name being called and fought to look up to see his father standing watching. He tried to reach out to him but another cramp hit and he fell onto his back exhausted.
He opened his eyes to see a dozen bloodied faces above him.
"You should have died." from one.
"We wouldn't if it hadn't been for you," from another
"No, please I tried to help" Steve replied desperate to make them understand.
"But you didn't we all died," from a third
"Now you'll join us." This came from the youngest face as another violent cramp hit
"I told you, you would die." The killer's face grinned down at him.
"No," Steve yelled out in terror. "No, I don't want... Please no!"
Then there was a familiar voice amongst the taunts calling his name and with a sharp intake of breath and a violent shudder he opened his eyes.
Mark hadn't intended to fall asleep but was woken by movement in the bed next to him. He threw the covers back and switched on the light. Steve was bathed in sweat and thrashing about, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. He tried calling his name but it seemed to have no effect as Steve drew up his knees clutching his abdomen in real or imagined pain.
Mark paused to find the call button and summon a nurse. Steve was crying out now, the anguish in his voice enough to make Mark weep. Instead, he redoubled his efforts to wake his son, gripping his shoulder and calling his name until Steve finally opened terror stricken eyes and looked up at him.
Every fibre in Mark's being wanted to draw his son into a tight hug and hold him as he had done when he was a child waking from a nightmare, telling him that everything was all right, that it was only a dream, allowing the words to soothe away the terror, but the cast on his arm presented a physical barrier to him providing the comfort of a hug, and the knowledge that it probably wasn't just a dream, but based in an all too terrifying reality, presented a mental barrier to the reassurance his words could give. Mark once again fought down the despair.
"Steve, it's all right." he said, squeezing his son's shoulder, "It was a nightmare, you're safe in the hospital."
Steve's eyes slowly focused on his father, his fuzzy senses tried to process the words that he could barely hear past the thundering of blood in his ears. "Dad," he said hesitantly, as he fought to quash the panic and fear, as a part of him remained trapped within his nightmare. "Dad, please," he whispered, "don't let them..I don't want to die," and Mark's carefully maintained emotional control dissolved.
Mark lay back on the bed and thought about Steve. In his long career, he had seen just about every sort of injury and affliction and had learnt to maintain a professional distance from the suffering of his patients, to do otherwise could only lead to depression. It wasn't that he didn't have sympathy for his patients, that was part of what made him a good doctor, but he had to focus on the help he could give, rather than the pain they were in, to maintain any sort of perspective. When it came to his own son, however, that professional distance seemed to evaporate. He knew better than most what his son was going through and his heart ached for him.
He pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying but failing to organise his thoughts. Question after question crowded for his attention. Why this was happening to Steve? Had the poisoner intended to hurt him or kill him? And who was it? There was the frightening but very real possibility that it was a violent act triggered by all of the negative publicity surrounding the events in the clinic, after all, that had led to hate mail. Would one of those cranks take it that step further and try to hurt him? or was it someone directly connected with the case?
Mark tried hard to focus but the questions kept repeating, and unfortunately there were no obvious answers. He was finally pulled from his musings at the sound of Steve being brought into the room. He watched silently whilst the nurses and orderlies made him comfortable, noticing his now deathly pale complexion and gaunt features, so different from how he had been only two short hours ago and he experienced a brief stab of despair before he managed to pull himself together. He had made a promise to himself that whatever happened he would be there for his son and he wasn't going to fail him now.
Dr. Taylor made sure that Steve was resting comfortably before dismissing the nursing staff, he then sat on the bed to talk to Mark. "OK, he's going to be all right, we seem to have got most of the poison before it got into his system." He glanced across at Steve before continuing. "I've had to put him on morphine for the pain, so he's going to be out of it for a while, we'll reduce the dose over the next twelve hours and see how he does. The good news is that there shouldn't be any long term effects."
"How about his X-rays?" Mark asked
"Fortunately he doesn't seem to have done any more damage to his ribs, the fracture remained in place." Bill Taylor studied his friend. "He was lucky really, it could have been much worse."
Mark looked over at Steve's sleeping form. Nothing that had happened to him in the last week could really be described in terms of good fortune. On the other hand, there were several occasions on which they could have lost him and, despite the pain and the trauma, he was still with them and would recover, at least physically, and for that, he knew he should be grateful.
Mark realised that his colleague was watching him, waiting for some sort of response. He turned back to him. "Thanks again for everything you've done."
"Well thank you for the assist with the diagnosis," Bill said, "I thought it was arsenic we were dealing with and yet you knew without even seeing him." He smiled. "It's not often that I get help from one of my patients. How did you know what it was?"
Mark allowed himself a small smile in return. "When you've been around as long as I have you get to see just about everything." He paused briefly before adding, " and if you're lucky you even remember some of it."
Bill let a small laugh escape. "Who are you trying to kid, you've got a memory like a steel trap and you never miss a detail."
That last sentence triggered something in Mark's mind. There was a detail that he had missed, something that had been niggling at him, something connected with the case and yet he couldn't quite bring it into focus. Had Jesse, Amanda or Steve seen the change in expression they would have realised that Mark was onto something. Bill Taylor misinterpreted his sudden distraction as worry.
"He really is going to be fine you know." Bill said.
Mark turned to look at him but it was clear he hadn't heard.
"I said he's going to be fine." Bill repeated.
Mark glanced across at his son then looked back at his friend. "I know he is." He said with a conviction that betrayed his need to believe what he was saying.
Amanda stepped out of the cab outside Mrs. Edmonds' house and walked past her own vehicle on the way to the door. This time when she knocked she did not have to wait long for an answer.
Mrs. Edmonds opened the door cautiously until she saw who it was, recognising Amanda she pulled it open wide. "Oh my dear you've come back. Come in. Come in and I'll get you a nice cup of tea." She gestured with her hand and almost shooed Amanda past before shutting the door, and leading the way to the kitchen at the back of the house, talking as she went. "That poor Lieutenant Sloan, he was in such a state I don't think I've ever seen anyone so pale. How is he? Is he going to be all right?" They were in the kitchen now and she stopped and turned to look at Amanda with the last question.
"Yes he's going to be fine," Amanda replied, taking the seat that Mrs. Edmonds gestured towards.
"Do they know what was wrong with him?"
Amanda hesitated before answering, deciding that the truth would only lead the conversation off in the wrong direction, she opted for a neutral statement. "They're still running tests."
"I expect it was something he ate, food poisoning most probably. My poor late husband had a dreadful bout of it once when we were on holiday in New Orleans, Of course we were much younger then. Do you take milk dear?"
Amanda nodded, so much for avoiding the conversation going off in the wrong direction.
"I remember it was a really hot Summer.."
"Mrs. Edmonds," Amanda interrupted as gently as she could, trying to decide how she could tactfully get back to her questions without offending.
Mrs. Edmonds stopped speaking and paused from making the tea for a moment to look at her. "I'm sorry, you don't really want to listen to me rambling on, you want answers to the questions you came out to ask earlier." She poured two cups from the pot she was holding and set one down in front of Amanda. "So fire away."
Amanda smiled, grateful for the old woman's astuteness and her courtesy. "Just before Lieutenant Sloan collapsed we were talking about Sandra Gray, the assistant DA. You said that you knew her, can I ask how?"
"Yes, she used to come around a lot in the early days just after the clinic opened. She was just a state prosecutor then but you could tell she was ambitious. She had that look in her eye, almost feral."
"Was she a patient?"
"No, we didn't hold any medical files on her and she never had an appointment. She used to turn up late, usually after the last patient, and she'd stay after I left. Would you like a biscuit?"
Amanda shook her head adding a polite, "No thank you, I'm fine," and attempting not to become frustrated by the interruptions.
"At first I thought they were having an affair." She paused whilst she opened a tin and took out a cookie for herself.
"What made you change your mind?"
"Well there was no passion for a start, not even a spark, of course they could have been trying to hide it but they were both single so there was no reason to, and then, on the couple of occasions when she left before I did, Dr. Evans always looked unhappy."
"How long did this go on for?"
Mrs. Edmonds considered before she answered. "About six months, I saw her roughly once per week, and that's the other thing that made me think it wasn't an affair. After she stopped coming round, a man used to turn up to see Dr. Evans, again after hours and roughly once a week. That went on for about another six months."
"And after that?"
"Nothing, at least nothing like that."
Amanda decided to try a new line of questioning. "Mrs. Edmonds can you think of any reason why Dr. Evans would want to hurt any of his patients?"
Mrs. Edmonds eyes widened as she picked up on the implications of Amanda's question. "I.. well I. I." Clearly flustered, she took a breath to compose herself. "I told you I didn't particularly like the man and I always had the feeling that there was something not quite right, but if you're asking me do I think he had something against one of his patients that would lead him to be involved in what happened on Saturday then I'm afraid I can't help you."
"You mean you don't think he could be involved?"
Mrs. Edmonds considered it. "No, I'm sad to say that I think he is capable of it, I just don't know of any reason why he would do it. From what I saw, his relationship with his patients was strictly professional." She smiled forlornly. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"No, you've been more than helpful, thank you."
Mrs. Edmonds' smile brightened. "You will stay for a little more tea won't you."
It was around six when Nathan finally returned to Mark's room carrying a pile of folders and some coffee for all of them. Amanda was already there talking quietly to Mark.
Having established that Steve was fine but still asleep, he began to update them on his findings, placing the files on the end of Mark's bed and opening his notebook. "OK first the interviews with the staff, they revealed very little about our poisoner. About all I have established is that with just a passing knowledge of the hospital routine anyone could add or take something from a tray. When they come up from the kitchens, the trolley is left unsupervised on the corridor whilst the meals are taken into the rooms, and the trays are marked with the room number and the patients' name, so they would be easy to tamper with. From now on all food to you Dr. Travis and Miss Wright will be supervised from the kitchen to you to avoid any repeats of the incident."
"So nobody saw anything?" Mark asked
"One of the nurses thought she saw someone hanging round on the corridor so we've got her looking through the mug books but I don't hold out much hope. There were no fingerprints either, pretty much of a dead end I'm afraid." He turned the page in his notebook. "We also have nothing on who killed Saul Reeve and possibly Sarah Mackay. If it was Dr. Evans we have no evidence apart from the fact that he had means and opportunity. It should be enough to get a search warrant to go through his records at the clinic though. They might have something significant about his relationship with the first two patients who died, because there's nothing that I can see in the backgrounds we've dug up." He pointed at the folders on the bed. "I brought the files with me in case you two wanted to have a look."
"I've been thinking about that," Mark interjected. In fact, once he had satisfied himself that Steve was going to be OK he had thought about little else all afternoon. Dr. Taylor's comment about him not missing a detail had made him reconsider everything he knew and he had picked out several more anomalies that bore investigation, although there was still something nagging at him. Something that he knew was significant but he was still missing. "If Dr. Evans was in the clinic between the shooting and when he reported to Captain Newman, it could have been because he was trying to get rid of evidence once he realised that everything had gone badly wrong and that there may be a bigger investigation."
"That would make sense," Nathan replied, "But I don't see how he could have been there without being seen by someone. You were there you know how many officers were around."
"Yes but it was fairly chaotic," Amanda joined the conversation. "If he kept his head down and looked like he knew what he was doing then it's possible no one would challenge him."
Nathan nodded. "Possibly."
"If he did destroy records," Mark said, "then it may be a good idea to take Mrs. Edmonds with you. She worked there for five years and would know better than most what was missing. Don't forget we also saw him there a couple of days later removing some more files." Mark looked at Amanda. "Do you think she would be willing to help?"
Amanda nodded. "Yes, in fact I rather think she'd enjoy it. I think she's already missing working."
"OK, I'll sort that out in the morning and I'll make sure that the search warrant also covers his house." Nathan said, closing his notebook. "I've also arranged to pick up a list of the case files destroyed by the fire at county records, although I still don't see what that will tell us."
"Maybe some connection between Dr. Evans and Sandra Gray," Mark said, thoughtfully. "After what Amanda found out this afternoon I'm even more sure that she's somehow involved in all of this."
Mark closed the file and sighed, Nathan was right, there was nothing about either of the men shot first at the clinic that connected them to Dr. Evans in anything but a professional capacity. One of them had only moved to LA from Chicago a couple of months ago and had visited the clinic a couple of times. The other had been a patient since it opened but again had only visited infrequently. There was no indication that they had any other contact than a handful of doctor- patient consultations and both were respectable and hard working men. As Nathan had said a dead end, and yet Mark had been so sure that there was a reason for the shootings. It wasn't just a random act of violence, it had a motive, they just had to find it.
He placed the files on his bed. He had taken to sitting in the chair next to Steve so that he could be there for him when he woke. He had come round partially a couple of times in the last couple of hours, not really regaining consciousness, just drifting close to the surface before the drugs pulled him under again, and Mark had been there to talk to him and reassure him that everything was all right before he drifted back to sleep.
Mark watched his son sleep, grateful for the medication that smoothed the lines of pain and worry from his face and allowed him to rest peacefully.
"How's he doing?"
The familiar voice from next to Mark startled him, he hadn't heard anyone enter the room. He turned to see Jesse sitting on the hospital bed beside him. He looked round and could see no wheelchair and no nurse and he was positive he would have heard that. "Jess, What are you doing here? You should be in bed," he admonished gently.
Jesse looked pointedly at the chair Mark was sitting in. "I could say the same to you."
"You could, but I only have a broken arm and a few scratches, I'm not recovering from a gunshot wound and a severe head trauma," Mark returned "and I am only two feet from my bed whereas you on the other hand.."
"Had to sneak clean across the corridor when the nurses weren't looking." Jesse grinned. "And it wasn't easy you know. I had to bribe two police officers, one to let me out of my room and the other to let me in here."
Mark gave Jesse the look that annoyed parents give to their offspring, or irritated doctors give to aberrant patients. "Jess you really shouldn't be walking around yet."
"I know, Dr. Taylor, nine years experience and a very interesting dizzy spell in the doorway already told me that. Why do you think I had to sneak over here? Dr. Taylor said I wasn't up to coming to visit yet."
Mark's expression changed to one of exacerbation. "So why are you here?"
Jesse looked across at Steve and then back at Mark. "Amanda came to see me and filled me in on what happened to Steve. She said that he was going to be all right and that you were OK but." he hesitated before continuing. "I just had to see for myself." Suddenly uncomfortable by the strength and sincerity of the emotions that he had allowed to the surface, he forced the grin back on to his face, "Besides I was getting bored in that hospital bed. You know us doctors were never cut out to be patients."
Mark had caught the strength of feeling in that short utterance, 'I had to see for myself,' and knew that it reflected Jesse's closeness to both him and Steve. He felt guilty that he had not gone over to reassure Jesse himself, he should have known how the young man would react when he heard that Steve had been hurt again. He regarded him critically, he was still very pale and the vivid colours of the bruising seemed to make even more of a contrast with his skin.
"I'm sorry I should have come over to see you.."
Jesse held up his hand. "Hey, it's all right," he nodded across at Steve. "He needs you more than I do."
"All the same, if you're going to stay here then get into bed and we can talk."
"But." Jesse began to protest.
"Get into bed or I'll call the nurses to take you back right now."
Jesse acquiesced and climbed into Mark's bed resting his head back "So, how's he doing?" he asked again once he was comfortable.
Mark hesitated before answering. "He'll recover," was the best he could manage when he did. Any reference to the pain Steve had been or would be in, or the toxic side effects of the drug he had been given, would have broken the delicate control Mark had on his emotions. So he avoided references to it. "At least from this," he added, "But Jess we've got to figure out who did this and why all this is happening before someone makes another attempt. He may not be so lucky next time." He lifted his cast and gestured at Jesse's bandaged arm. "None of us might be." . "Hey," Jesse looked him directly in the eye. "You know I'll do anything I can to help."
Mark smiled with genuine affection. "I know Jess." He handed him one of the files. "So, do you feel up to a little light reading?"
Jesse looked at the plain folder and groaned. "Well when I said anything." he began in mock protest, but opened up the file and began to read.
It was an hour before the nurses discovered that Jesse was missing and forced the errant patient back into his own bed, and he had gone with reasonably good grace, this time in the compulsory wheelchair. Mark had also been forced back into his own bed and he had lay back to continue to think about the case.
Peter parked the car and rubbed his eyes, glad that he was finally being allowed to get some rest. It was almost midnight and he had been driving Byron around and running errands all day. Sometimes he wondered how his companion kept up the pace. It was an amazing yet frightening sight to watch him when he was working through a plan. He became driven, seeming to have no need to rest. Even when he had been seated beside him in the car, the energy emanating from the man was almost palpable. Peter frequently found it difficult to keep up, but was too afraid not to.
He took a deep breath and headed into the rented apartment. Byron had told him to park up and then come inside and it would not be wise to keep him waiting. Not when he was in this sort of mood. He opened the door nervously and went inside.
Byron was standing by an open refrigerator just inside the room. He smiled and tossed him a beer. "Here, you've earned it," he said opening his own and taking a deep gulp before dropping onto the couch.
"Thanks," Peter said, still wary. He was not used to praise.
"When you've finished that." Byron gestured with his own bottle across at Peter's. "Get yourself some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow and lots of traveling to do."
Peter swallowed, he had been wanting to say something earlier but hadn't had the courage. "About that I."
"Yes," Byron answered amused by his friend's nervousness.
"Do we have to .." he stumbled over the words but forced himself on. "Do we have to leave the country."
Byron smiled, "Of course we do. They've got a sample of my blood and they've matched it against Robert's. It's only a matter of time before they trace the fact that I'm his half brother and tie me to the shootings at the clinic. They don't even need witnesses, they've got enough physical evidence to make a case." He took another swig of his beer, "besides I intend to leave a confession." His amusement grew as he watched his companion's surprised expression. "So once I've done what I have to do tomorrow and had my fun, we'll need to leave."
"But," Peter hesitated again, but he had started this so he had no choice but to see it through. He took a quick swig of his beer. "They don't have any evidence against me, c. couldn't I stay."
In contrast, Byron took a long unhurried draw from his beer and lowered it slowly to his lap before gazing across at Peter. "Well I could leave you here I suppose." He paused for effect, noting that Peter's face relaxed slightly. "But then that would make you a loose end," another pause, "and you know what I do with loose ends."
Peter gulped at the implied threat. "Then I guess I'd better pack," he said, getting to his feet.
"Yes," Byron said, still smiling. "Why don't you do that."
Steve saw the face of the killer as he turned. He heard the cruel taunts, "The shooting would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. Now you'll all die." And then the bullets slammed into his chest, blinding him momentarily to everything but the pain, as the words repeated in his head selectively enforcing his own guilt "Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. you'll all die. Would have stopped if it hadn't been for you. if it hadn't been for you."
Then the screams started, only this time Steve sat up and watched as each and every one of the people in the clinic fell to the floor, he watched the bullets tear into flesh, he watched the blood run from the wounds, he saw and heard their terror and he tried to scream at the killer to stop, but no sounds came from his mouth. His limbs felt like lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't help. All he could do was watch.
Then he was running. He turned to look at the killer who was chasing him only it wasn't him. It was the victims from the clinic still soaked in blood and they were coming after him. They wanted him. He ran as fast as he could barely keeping in front of them, and then the first cramp hit, excruciating, debilitating pain that made him drop to his knees. Every muscle in his body screaming in agony
He heard his name being called and fought to look up to see his father standing watching. He tried to reach out to him but another cramp hit and he fell onto his back exhausted.
He opened his eyes to see a dozen bloodied faces above him.
"You should have died." from one.
"We wouldn't if it hadn't been for you," from another
"No, please I tried to help" Steve replied desperate to make them understand.
"But you didn't we all died," from a third
"Now you'll join us." This came from the youngest face as another violent cramp hit
"I told you, you would die." The killer's face grinned down at him.
"No," Steve yelled out in terror. "No, I don't want... Please no!"
Then there was a familiar voice amongst the taunts calling his name and with a sharp intake of breath and a violent shudder he opened his eyes.
Mark hadn't intended to fall asleep but was woken by movement in the bed next to him. He threw the covers back and switched on the light. Steve was bathed in sweat and thrashing about, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. He tried calling his name but it seemed to have no effect as Steve drew up his knees clutching his abdomen in real or imagined pain.
Mark paused to find the call button and summon a nurse. Steve was crying out now, the anguish in his voice enough to make Mark weep. Instead, he redoubled his efforts to wake his son, gripping his shoulder and calling his name until Steve finally opened terror stricken eyes and looked up at him.
Every fibre in Mark's being wanted to draw his son into a tight hug and hold him as he had done when he was a child waking from a nightmare, telling him that everything was all right, that it was only a dream, allowing the words to soothe away the terror, but the cast on his arm presented a physical barrier to him providing the comfort of a hug, and the knowledge that it probably wasn't just a dream, but based in an all too terrifying reality, presented a mental barrier to the reassurance his words could give. Mark once again fought down the despair.
"Steve, it's all right." he said, squeezing his son's shoulder, "It was a nightmare, you're safe in the hospital."
Steve's eyes slowly focused on his father, his fuzzy senses tried to process the words that he could barely hear past the thundering of blood in his ears. "Dad," he said hesitantly, as he fought to quash the panic and fear, as a part of him remained trapped within his nightmare. "Dad, please," he whispered, "don't let them..I don't want to die," and Mark's carefully maintained emotional control dissolved.